If Bad Fanfic was Good TV....a CSI short scene.
by theos
Summary: A short scene, written as if the CSI folks were following some baaad fanfic. Rated R for...references. No spoilers.


Sara, Grissom, Nicky, Catherine, Warrick, Greg, and the mysterious day shift of the CSI unit don't belong to me. At all. In any way. CBS and the producers of CSI own all rights to them, now and forever. In fact, I'm probably just channeling for them right now.  
  
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Just some parody fluff that popped up while I was trying to sleep.  
  
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(Sara, Grissom, Nicky, Catherine, and Warrick are walking down one of the myriad halls in the CSI unit. Grissom is paging through a rather thin script, mumbling to himself and occasionally stumbling against one of his cohorts. Apparently, what he's reading is a bit risquè. Poor Grissom. Sara is trying to read over his shoulder, and Nicky and Warrick are walking backwards in front of him, trying to read the script upside down. Catherine is stalking along behind the group, looking intently into a handheld mirror while making numerous tiny adjustments to her hairstyle. Grissom slows to a stop in front of the break room.)   
  
Grissom (reading script): Ok - Nicky and Catherine had sex in the lab, Warrick and Sara had sex in the women's bathroom -  
  
(Nicky snickers)  
  
G: - and I've just finished fantasizing about my various coworkers while taking a shower.  
  
Sara: What about Greg?  
  
G: Hmm. Not in this scene, apparently. Ok. We're all walking into the room, flushed and mussed from our sexcapades.   
  
(Warrick, Sara, Nicky, and Catherine give Grissom an incredulous look.)   
  
G: I didn't write the script.   
  
(Everyone trots into the break room and finds a seat.)   
  
G (still reading script): Ok. Sara, start flirting with Catherine.   
  
S: Why?   
  
G: Because then you can go on to establish that you just had illicit sex.   
  
S: Why don't I just say I had illicit sex?   
  
G: You have to make the rest of us uncomfortable.   
  
S: I'm pretty uncomfortable as it is.   
  
G: **I** didn't write the script.   
  
Catherine: Excuse me - why are we here during daylight, anyway?   
  
G: The author couldn't think of a way to have us all here at night.   
  
C: We're here every night!   
  
G:...without actually having to write some plot into the script.   
  
C: Ah.   
  
(Nicky is filing his nails, and looks up.)   
  
Nicky: Can we move on?   
  
G: Yeah. Ok, forget Sara and Catherine...Nicky, you and Warrick start alluding to orgies.   
  
(The group snickers.)   
  
G: And yet, I didn't write the **script**.   
  
Warrick: Man, why can't we have sex outside the crime lab?   
  
G: Apparently, we don't have houses. Or apartments. And Las Vegas would seem to be fresh out of hotels.   
  
W: Greg's always 'analyzing my DNA', if you know what I mean.   
  
(Catherine snickers. Grissom looks at the script.)   
  
G: How'd you know?   
  
S, N, & C in unison: Next scene! Next scene!   
  
G: Fine. Sara, you and I are fighting and then...blah, blah blah...wild, passionate sex on my desk.   
  
S (with disbelief): What?   
  
(She wrestles Grissom for the script, wins, and checks the next scene.)   
  
S: Damn.   
  
(Grissom uses a Jedi Mind Trick to wrest the script away from Sara. She pouts.)   
  
G (ignoring her): Warrick, you're hanging over Greg's shoulders and making general lewd suggestions.   
  
C: Where is Greg, anyway?   
  
G: Plot-sub-basement-C. Never mind. Catherine, you and Nicky are having meaningless sex in front of a fireplace.   
  
(Catherine looks at Sara. Sara nods.)   
  
C: What about my daughter?   
  
G (flips to character listing at beginning of script): Nope.   
  
C: Fine, but I have no fireplace. And no house. Has anyone seen the bunsen burners?   
  
S: May I ask a question?   
  
G: No.   
  
(Warrick snickers.)   
  
S:...Why hasn't day shift noticed any of the passionate, pointless sex encounters we're having all over the department?   
  
G: Sara, that's why we're the real crime scene investigators.   
  
N: Skip to the end of the script, Grissom.   
  
G: And how do 'you' know what's at the end of the script?   
  
(Nicky holds up a crib sheet.)   
  
G: Remind me to talk to Brass about an internal leak.   
  
(Grissom snickers.)   
  
G: Ok, the end, the end...ok...we're all having sex around the lab within hearing distance of each other...we all come out and give each other knowing smiles...and that's about it.   
  
C: Grissom, I spent two hours on this hairdo.   
  
G: Yeah, and I spent two seasons playing a character with dignity and reserve. Buckle down, Catherine.   
  
(Sara snickers. Each member of the group grabs someone else and drags them off into a shadowy corner of the lab. A small period of time elapses with suitable groans, moans, yells, squeals, shrieks, and curses on the soundtrack. Suddenly, Greg walks in.)   
  
Greg: Hey! People! I'm out of the basemeeee....   
  
(Shadowy, half-naked figures converge on Greg. He too squeals as the girls find all his tickle spots and drag him off.)   
  
(Night has fallen on Las Vegas. Cue...who?) 


End file.
